Sartorial Mistakes
by MissTempleton
Summary: Jack really ought to know by now that there are some things in which he is not expert.


**Sartorial Mistakes**

"Is he in, Hugh? Don't worry, I'll announce myself."

If anyone had accused Miss Phryne Fisher of being high-handed in her treatment of the premises and personnel of City South police station, she would have denied it.

Mildly.

Because she had always been fundamentally honest and, having agreed before the necessary two witnesses to stick by John Robinson of Richmond, Melbourne until God should be so lacking in good manners as to separate them by death, she'd decided that what was hers was his; and by logical extension, what was his was, naturally, hers.

That included the convenient use of the resources and population of the building in which his office resided; and said resources were generally okay with the idea, because Miss Fisher, while a demanding despot, was also remarkably generous when it came to thanking the footsoldiers. It was, in fact, regarded as something of sinecure to be detailed to City South. One didn't have to rely solely on a stilted letter from Detective Chief Inspector Jack Robinson to be rewarded beyond the legally-agreed stipend; one could also rely on a steady stream of fresh baking from Mrs Robinson's kitchen and a cold beer if one chanced to be off duty at the right moment. There had also been, for a couple of years now, a bit of a shivoo at the Robinson household in St Kilda, which most of the spouses of the gentlemen of Bank Street had learned to look forward to. Quite why anyone would hold a party on that particular day was a bit of a mystery, but Phryne and Jack held the anniversary of the death of Mr Andrews as an important date and generally felt it worth marking with the law enforcement community.

To cut a long story, therefore, a bit shorter, Miss Fisher (or Mrs Robinson as she was known outwith working hours) sashayed straight past Sergeant Hugh Collins, through the door marked with the boss's name, and scampered to perch cheerfully on the corner of his desk, flinging one leg over the other in a deliberately flirtatious manner and not worrying too much whether her undergarments had been on display in the process.

(They had).

At which point her jaw dropped, and, when she regained her breath, she asked in hushed tones,

" _Good God, Jack, where in HEAVENS' name did you get that tie?_ "

Jack Robinson had, that morning, arrived at the office in an unusually good mood. There had been times in his life when he'd had to work quite hard, not so much to count his blessings but rather to remember that he had any to count. Today, though, he'd been warmly and generously woken by the scintillating lady detective currently decorating the corner of his desk. He'd then left her to resume her rest while he jogged downstairs to share breakfast with the daughter who was already, at the ripe old age of two-and-three-quarters, showing signs of resembling her mother.

(Certainly, the giggle that accompanied his discovery of the face she'd painted in cochineal on his boiled egg was one that he'd learned quickly to love from a rather more mature comedy partner).

Arriving at the office, he'd found a gift box waiting from a certain lady of the night, who'd been enormously grateful for his efforts in ensuring that she was only jailed for the sins she'd actually committed rather than the rather more serious ones she hadn't. He'd been rather pleased about that; while Maisie was most decidedly not the kind of person who would rank on the guest list for a party at 221B The Esplanade, she wasn't all bad, and it had been nice to be able to clear up a little local difficulty without the assistance of Miss Fisher, just for once.

Maisie had accepted her sentence for solicitation philosophically; he was still on the hunt for the felon who'd tried to frame her for possession of a pair of diamond drop earrings from a society dame who'd thought it would be hysterically funny to go slumming in Little Lon after a party. The nasty interview with the dame's insurers wasn't one that would go in his memoirs, but like Maisie, he was used to taking the rough with the smooth and rolled with that particular punch.

"You like it?" he asked, setting to one side the file he'd been annotating, and lifting the tie to consider it again. It was, truth be told, a bit garish. Not the kind of thing he'd have worn in the pre-Miss Fisher era. But, he reasoned, he was now a Modern Man and he could get away with the odd sartorial risk now and again.

"Jack, it's awful," she stated bluntly. "I almost want to cover my eyes. Since when did you develop a taste for _puce_?"

"Well, I think it's very … stylish," he said stubbornly, trying not to lean away as she picked up the end gingerly between the tips of her finger and thumb. "Someone was grateful that I did a good job … what?"

She was gently rubbing the fabric between her fingers.

"Jack, take it off."

"Phryne, don't be ridiculous. I know you think you control everything about my wardrobe, and I'm very grateful, but you need to …"

"Off. Now."

Something in her tone had him pause, and then comply – sulkily. He loosened the knot, lifted the offending tie over his head and handed it to his implacable inamorata.

She swiftly undid it, and delved into her handbag, coming out with a tiny penknife.

"Oh, Phryne, now, come on, surely that's unnecessary!" he complained. She didn't immediately respond, but began picking away at the stitches.

"Who sent this?" she asked.

"Well … there wasn't actually a note or anything with it, but it was probably – indirectly – from a prostitute," he said airily. She glanced up at that, twitched her nose a little, and bent back to her work.

"Indirectly?"

"Well, she's in prison now. She couldn't have sent it herself. Phryne, why are you ripping it up? It's not like you to be …" he searched for the word.

She smiled grimly at the tie in her hands. "Jack, dear, please don't think me jealous. Was there, by any chance, a theft in the crime?"

"Yes, a pair of …" he stopped short. Because she'd stopped cutting stitches, and unravelled the folds of the tie.

Along the two side seams, something glittered. As Phryne held up the tie in one hand, she held the other beneath it; into which dropped two beautiful, long, glistening strands of sparkling stones.

Jack went pale.

Phryne cocked an eyebrow.

"Perhaps let me supply your ties in future, darling?"


End file.
